Brianna Wilshusen (June 22,1992 / Waterville)

This week I ran,
I ran from home.
My father was cruel,
He treated me like,
A simple slave child.

I ran to a friends,
Trying to leave town.
We almost escaped,
Then he saw us,
He took me straight home.

Once we arrived,
I packed all my things.
As he begged me to stay,
He said something was wrong,
He wasn't sure what.

He went to the phone,
I ran out the back.
To my friends once more,
The cops have soon come,
They said, 'we can do not'.

So know here I am,
A run away girl.
No more treated as if,
I am Cinderella,
Without a kind prince.

But a prince I need not,
For I have many friends.
With many a true,
I hold them all close,
For I am Cinderella.
And one day I'll have my Prince.